


Funeral March Of The Marionette

by VultureLovesong



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus Harry Potter, BAMF Harry, Creepy Mother-Fucking Harry Potter, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Lord Harry Potter, Do-Over, Don't Feed Owls Cooked Food You Idiots!, Good Voldemort, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, House Hopping, Hufflepuff Harry Potter, Intelligent Harry Potter, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Master of Death Harry Potter, Necromancer Harry Potter, Not HP: Epilogue Compliant, Possessive Voldemort, Probably a Little Cliche, Rewrite, Rise of Voldemort, Sane Voldemort, Second War with Voldemort, Tattooed Harry, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 17:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6714151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VultureLovesong/pseuds/VultureLovesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The future brings nothing but agony, prejudiced, and a war spanning over four and a half decades. Harry Potter dies at nearly seventy years old, in a place of powerful magic unknown to his attackers, and he is given the choice to be reborn on the night of his parents' deaths. Armed with the knowledge and power of the future, Harry has but one goal. Stop the muggles from discovering magic and, in the process, prevent the coming apocalypse before it happens, saving the entire world from a future of war, pain, and fear. But he only has a small amount of time to do it in.</p><p>Edit: Damned A/N Didn't show up in notes. I fixed it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Forever Skeletons

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: Nc-16, Explicit, MA-16+, R
> 
> Themes: Necromancy, Dark Magic, Soul Magic, Dark Harry, Time Travel, Rebirth
> 
> Warnings: Bloody Violence, Necromancy, Sexual Content, Underage in Body
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This Is A Work Of Fanfiction Based On The Works And World Of J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter Saga. I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING! All Rights To Harry Potter And His World Go To J. K. Rowling And Her Associates. Thank You! ~ V
> 
> A/N: This Fic is Inspired By "Harry Potter and the Descent into Darkness" by Athy, "Xerosis" by Batsutousai, and "FeS2" by Shivani. Yes There will be similarities. I highly recommend these three works and the authors behind them. No, you don't have to read them before reading mine. It isn't that inspired... ~V

## Funeral March Of The Marionette

**Prologue - Forever Skeletons**

**May 02, 1998 - July 07, 2047 | The Timeless Realm of Death**

* * *

On the second of May, the year 1998, Harry James Potter kills Voldemort, but the second Blood War doesn’t end until the twenty-seventh of April two years later, when the last of the death eaters and dark sympathizers are captured. Those were dark times. The Death Eaters and their following do not sit back and relax after their Lord's seemingly second defeat at the hands of the Boy-Who-Lived. They take up arms on his behalf, not wanting to face his wrath again for renouncing him, convinced that He will one day make another miraculous return. Harry Potter stands at the front of every battle, a child born to be a warrior, while his friends and family settle down into a life away from the battlefield. By the time the war is finally over, everyone else has a steady life, and Harry has no clue what to do with himself.

He thrives on the battlefield.  He exists for the thrill of the fight. He has no clue what to do without war, but he does not have to wait long.

Not even two months later, on the first of June, the Muggles find out about magic, when a couple of careless witches decide to broom race over London. With new technology, the news spreads worldwide before the Aurors can get their hands on those who saw, and knowledge of the magical world becomes public. At first, it is a mix of people awed and filled with wonderment at the concept of magic, and those trying to convince the world that they are dangerous. The first three years, the only battles are small attacks by radicals as they work on the new treaty. The first public treaty between the magical and non-magical worlds is signed on July 31, 2004, just in time to prevent an all out war from forming.

A tentative peace forms, but on the fifth of January, the year 2007, a new threat comes in the form of a Dark Lord by the name Diablos, sending the Light and Dark into discord and threatening the shaky serenity between the magical and non-magical worlds. That March, only two months into the newest wizarding war, Diablos is bold enough to break everyone out of Azkaban, and they take the war to the non-magical world. That same month, a scare week later, the Muggles join the war as a third side to the fight.

For ten years it is a mix of Light fighting Dark, and Dark fighting Light, and Muggles fighting both their own wars and the two sides of the magical war, with some from both dark and light on their side, and others just trying to survive against the sheer numbers the muggles possess. The Magical world wises up on December 13, 2015, when the Muggles bomb the ten elite magical schools, only days before the children were supposed to be sent home for winter break. Diablos died five years earlier, and without his words to guide their actions, the Dark side and the Light side form an alliance. This is the year they practically beg the Muggles to stop the war, and the second treaty is written and signed on February 14, 2017.

For a single year, to the very date, they have peace, but then the war starts again when the Treaty is broken by a wayward Muggle, who bombs the American Magical Embassy that Valentine's day, on the anniversary of the war's end.

The war after that is one that does not care for the planet beneath them. The Muggles invent new and worse weapons, until magic is rendered all but useless. It is a war that is only a war in name, but is more of a massacre. The magical's only hope lies in the defeater of two dark lords, Harry Potter, who stands as the most powerful warrior of the Magical World. The fighting never seems to end. They run, and scramble, but one by one, or in massive groups, both muggle and magical are picked off in the war, until all that is left is a small population still fighting to win on a poisoned planet.

And now we come to this point. July 07, 2047.

It is a cold moonless night, although maybe the moon is shining, but like the stars it is hidden behind thick clouds of poison and smoke. All around small fires burn across the smoldering blackened ground, a wasteland of blackened mountains and scorched earth as far as the eyes can see. Ripped apart corpses, both new and old, cover the ground like a morbid parody of confetti. The last magical being lies bleeding in the middle of this field of fire and death, chuckling softly as a chokes on his own blood. He is the oldest and most powerful being of all time, reduced to a frail withered ghost of himself on this nearly magicless poisoned planet, the only thing keeping the planet still alive unknown to his attackers. Though this is not why he laughs.

Through a birds eye view, if one could look beyond the smoke and fog, it would be easy to see that the grooves and cracks along the blackened rock he is lying upon form a ritualistic circle, like a labyrinth drawn out beneath him. The lines are slowly filling up with the fresh blood pouring from the hole in his chest. This was his plan all along. He planned to die on this day, in this spot, and his attackers fell right along with his plans like puppets pulled by strings. This is Helga's Labyrinth, a place of magic beyond knowledge, a place once buried beneath Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It sits upon a magical ley line, the last magical ley line, and he knows his death will feed it power. maybe it will be enough to save the planet, but it is doubtful.

In the Labyrinth of Helga Hufflepuff, Harry James Potter welcomes death like an old friend.

**~*~ ~*~**

The Master Of Death is not just a fancy title. A long time ago, three necromancers created three powerful objects that could help them hide from Death and, if all three were collected by one, that person would have power to make a request of their choosing from Death, as well as some boons. But this person would have to be willing to face death, they would have to be selfless, they would have to be of those necromancers' bloodline, and they would have to be powerful enough to accept the burden and the gift such a title would offer. Before Harry Potter, not one person met the criteria, so combined with the powerful place and date of his death, of course Death itself would notice.

The second Harry Potter enters the timeless realm, Death is there to greet him. Death is quite surprised at the man before him, for he is nothing like Death was expecting of a sixty-seven year old man. He looks fifteen, but as frail as if he were in his hundreds. Stranger still, his soul is incomplete, a small sliver has been in Death's realm for nearly as long as he has been living. Death knows this is because Tom Riddle once housed a Horcrux inside him, but Death had not realized that the child's soul had not healed once the shard was ripped out of him. he should have died long ago of a broken soul bond, one couldn't survive another's soul touching their own if one of those souls was dead. He must be truly powerful to have survived a broken soul bond intact for such a long time.

"So," The man in the child's body begins, "I suppose you must be Death." There is no question in his voice or eyes, but the great skeletal being still nods in answer. "Is there any truth to the legend? Do I get to request something of you?"

"Yes." Death affirms, admiring the fact that he is not beating around the bush. "You have one question, one gift I must give you. Tell me, Harry James Potter, what is it you desire?"

The green eyed man smirks. "I want magic in the world again. I wish to give magic one last chance to flourish, to fix the planet the war destroyed. This can not be the end." Death blinks. Of all the things he could have asked for, revenge, eternal life in a new realm, complete power over life and death, and he chooses such a small thing. Magic in a destroyed world. It's funny, such a small request, and the only one Death can not meet. Death says as much, and the boy sighs. "Then I need nothing. Thank you. I am ready."

Death knows that sending Harry Potter to meet his parents in the afterlife is what he should do, but he is bored, and this shows promise. "I can send you back to the first time you touched my realm, the night your parents died, and give you the power to prevent the End of Magic and the World yourself." Wide interested eyes snap up to stare at Death, and the primordial being knows that Harry Potter shall agree. "Of course, you will always have one foot in the realm of death, but you will have your memories, and you will have your power, which will only grow with you. Not to mention that I'll be sending back the billions of souls that died because of this war and before it, and I will expect you to meet that number before you can die, but you can take as long as you'd like to do so. I'll also request that you fix up Tom Riddle's soul. You will have a larger part of his soul inside you, but considering you will be immortal until you meet the number, I'm sure you can convince him that you are enough of a life line. He has a bigger roll to play than you would expect."

"Send me back." Harry says decidedly. "But first, tell me how always having a part of myself in the realm of death will effect me. What roll does Tom have to play? What number am I to meet?"

Death smirks. "Now, where would the fun in that be?" He asks, then pushes Harry backwards into his younger body and conjures a bowl of popcorn. This should be very amusing.

**~*~ ~*~**

On October 31, 1981, Harry James Potter wakes up. His first memory is of the green light of the killing curse. On his left wrist is a small black tattoo of a number. 8,725,613,477.


	2. Bone of the Father, Blood of the Ally

## Funeral March Of The Marionette

**Chapter One - Bone of the Father, Blood of the Ally**

**Prior to 1991 - 1992 School Year | Prior To First Year**

* * *

He is six years old when he finally makes his first move.

Up until then, his life is a slow crawl, a test to his patience as he slowly gathered all he would need for this day. It is Yule today, the beginning of the Pagan wheel of the year, the sacred day the Sun god dies and is reborn. Harry choose this day because it is so fitting, seeing as he plans to put to rest the insanity of Voldemort, and resurrect Tom Riddle to become the Dark Lord he was always meant to be. He has spent all day practically vibrating with excitement as he did the chores the Dursley's assigned him. With any luck, he won't have to come back here after tonight, but if he does, he can always arrange for an accident.

It is just past ten pm in Albania, nine pm in the UK, the sun has long since set over the snow covered forest. The moon is just larger than a half moon in the cloudless starry sky, just nine short days prior to the new moon, a few short days after the full. Harry almost set the ritual date for the full or new moon, but in the end, Yule was the more powerful date, despite the new moon being set on Tom Riddle's birth date. Harry stands in a clearing, with a bubbling cauldron of black liquid like tar centered on a ritual circle. The forest is lit with candles and the bonfire the cauldron sits upon. All that is left is to add his own blood, and to throw Voldemort and his horcruxes into the cauldron. From the corner of his eyes, Harry can see Voldemort struggling inside the snake he is possessing as he throws each of his horcruxes in. Harry tries not to chuckle, the ritual he is using requires him to be silent as the grave. He picks up the large jug holding his blood. The benefit of being immortal, is that he could drain his entire body of blood for this ritual, and Death just resurrected him with a sour faced expression. The cauldron is now filled with smoking crimson liquid like blood poured on dry ice, and Harry uses his new found magic to rip Voldemort's soul from the snake's body, and he pushes it down into the cauldron as the snake falls dead to the ground.

The potion turns dark amethyst, and sparks like lava fly every which way, setting the surrounding forest alight with purple flames. Harry isn't concerned. This is meant to happen, and when the magic is done creating a body, the fire will die out until all that is left is ash and scorch marks. It will not go farther than the ritual circle, and the animals all left the second he arrived. The cauldron melts onto the ground like tar, and Harry watches fascinated as the slimy potion turns black once again, forming itself into a shape like a human skeleton slowly from a blob of slimy black. As soon as the bones are formed, muscles, and tissues, and blood, and organs, and skin all form in the correct order. At some point, before the skin, but after the brain was formed, Tom Riddle started screaming like he was in the worst agony anyone could ever be in. Harry supposes having your body formed cell by cell must hurt. In the end, he is sitting shivering with pain on the ground amidst the scorched ground and trees, looking much like his sixteen year old self, but closer to twenty five.

Harry gives him as much time as he needs to get his head about him, and he crouches down so that his bum touches the heels of his tip-toed feet, with his hands and chin rested on his knee caps, so that he can admire his work. Tom's silky ink black hair is currently choppy, some chunks as short as his shoulders, and others long enough to touch his ankles and hips. He'll need to cut that, and probably shave the inexplicable beard on his face. His finer and toe nails are pretty long too. He has a nice face, with his partially hidden roman lips, slender strait upturned nose, sharp cheekbones, and sharp eyes. Those are different from his sixteen year old self's eyes. They are the the color of rubies or blood, like his eyes are filled with fire in a way, but not serpentine like his Voldemort eyes were. His skin is nice and winter pale, a perfect contrast to his black hair, and Harry can tell that when he stands he will be tall, thin, and muscular. His hair is pooled into his lap, the only cover for his naked body. As soon as Harry remembers that he is probably uncomfortable nude, he digs the robes out of his backpack, and sets them down next to the recently resurrected Dark Lord, and then goes back to sitting in his previous position.

**~*~ ~*~**

Eventually, Tom grabs the robes, pulls them on, and stands shakily. He looks at Harry like he is a puzzle to approach, but Harry supposes that if he were resurrected by a tiny toddler, he would probably be confused and curious too, and that isn't accounting for the fact that he is disproportionately powerful for his size and age. "Who are you?" Tom asks, and his voice is scratchy and gravelly, but Harry can tell it will be deep and smooth when he gets used to speaking again, and maybe drinks a lot of tea.

"Eh." Harry isn't exactly sure how to approach this, but he specifically came looking like this so that he could wander about in this form near the dark lord, and not worry about Voldemort killing him. "That is a long story, involving a strange sort of time travel. I'm not your enemy. I feel like that should be said before hand." He stands up and swipes his bangs off his forehead.

His eyes go wide. "Harry Potter." Tom Riddle whispers.

"That's my name." He chirps. He twists the wand he stole from the ruins of his house around in his hand, and then holds it out to him. "This is yours. I suppose you could kill me with it, but I should warn you that I cannot die, and I am your last and only horcrux, so I wouldn't suggest it, but it is your call." Tom casts a silent spell at him, his face slightly alight with wonder, no doubt because he has not been this powerful since the creation of his third Horcrux. Harry's scar glows blue. "Ooo! Horcrux detection spell?"

"Yes." Tom says softly. His voice is already getting smoother. "You aren't really six, are you?" He asks, and Harry chuckles and shakes his head. "How-?" He doesn't seem to know how to continue.

"That's a long story." Harry sighs. "I'll tell you the whole story later, with memories to prove it, but the short version is that I died, spoke to death, and had him send my soul, magic, and memories into my body just after you cast the killing curse at me. That hurt, by the way. And then, it took a while to get everything I needed for the ritual to resurrect you, considering I first had to get my hands on the items to create an alternate older personality so that I could get my hands on the more ludicrous ingredients. Do you even know how hard it is to purchase three basilisk eyes and a pint of unicorn blood? Not an easy task! Oh, don't worry about the unicorn blood, it was willingly given, so you won't have that cursed life thing to worry about."

To his relief, Tom seems to accept this pretty easily, though Harry doesn't need him to say it to know that he will have to show his memories later. "I confess I am still a bit lost, but I will leave this conversation for later. I must call my followers to me."

"Considering how you look, I suggest you put on the snake face." Harry says, and he tosses the dark lord a Claddagh ring with an emerald heart in silver.

"What's this?" he asks.

"It's a glamour ring of sorts." he says. "I don't know how you did the snake face thing before, but considering how many followers you are likely to torture tonight, I wouldn't suggest magically applying it. You're likely to get magically exhausted quite easily."

Tom nods and conjures a mirror. He grimaces. "By the grace of Morgana." he whispers horrified.

"Yeah, I know." Harry tries not to snicker. "Depending on how you wear it, the Claddagh ring has four different meanings. Likewise, depending on how you wear it, each way has a different glamour. Right now you only have one keyed in, your serpentine form at the single position, but you can change that and key in your own later. I have own of my own which I'll wear when you introduce me to the Death Eaters. I'm not ready for anyone else to know about Harry Potter being on your side."

Tom nods and slips the ring onto his right hand's ring finger with the heart's point facing outward, and Harry removes his own gold and ruby one from the chain on his neck and does the same. Immediately after putting on his ring, Tom is replaced by Voldemort at his finest, a bone pale serpentine monster. He is bald, with scaled skin, pointed teeth, a forked tongue, and sharp black nails on his fingers. His eyes turn to a slightly darker shade and his pupils become snake-like slits. He has a lip less mouth and two slits for nostrils on his nose-less face. Harry let's out a low whistle, and he turns to him. Voldemort's hairless brow raises.

"Nice, I suppose, but you look fifteen." He says.

Harry pouts petulantly. "I'll have you know I am seventeen." He says, and his voice is slightly deeper than it would have been at that age. "I have a young face."

"Does this form have a name?" Voldemort asks.

"Nyctalus Noire." He answers. At the curious glance he grins. "Nyctalus lasiopterus is the scientific name of the Greater Noctule Bat, my animagus form. Noir is French for Black, my Godfather's name. Beneficially, Noir with an e at the end like I spelled it is a lesser but still prominent French cousin to our Black family, and it is difficult to prove or disprove my relation to them. Besides, they are known to have necromancers in their family lines, which is helpful to me, as I am also a necromancer."

"Clever." Voldemort allows, and Harry unabashedly preens as he puts on a black Venetian mask with subtle glittering black decorations. Voldemort gives his mask a narrow eyed look of disapproval, but he says nothing. Harry still understands.

"Look, I'm not going to be some simple follower." He says. "I will be your ally. I will accept the position as your second, rather than your equal, if I must, but I am no mere follower. I'm older than you."

"I'm nearly sixty years old." Voldemort deadpans.

"I'm seventy two." He grins wickedly, triumphantly. "I win."

The dark lord sighs. "I would prefer to introduce you as my second, or my protegee." he finally agrees. "My followers would not believe me capable of sharing power with anyone, especially not a teenager."

Harry smiles. "Alright." he says. "Let's do this."

Voldemort pushes magic into his mark mentally, not having any marked followers nearby to call them with.

**~*~ ~*~**

In a private meeting concerning a trouble student, Severus Snape curses as his dark mark turns red and pain shoots up his arm, causing him to drop the teacup he'd been holding in his lap, dumping scalding earl grey down his front before it rolls down his legs and breaks in half on the ground. At the other side of the desk, Dumbledore gives him a concerned look. "My boy?" He asks.

"He's back." Severus pales. He had no warning for this. "And he's calling."

Dumbledore turns white as his beard. "Go to him." he orders. "Tell me everything when you get back, but for your own good you must not keep him waiting."

Snape nods, casting a quick cleaning charm, and transfiguring his robes and the broken tea cup into his proper mask and death eater garb. He hops into the floo to the apparition point in the Hog's head, and Apparates to the snowy fire scorched forest clearing his mark is projecting in his head. There are only few other followers already there, and Severus kisses the Dark Lord's robes and takes his place next to the one with the familiar platinum blonde hair and mask of Lucius Malfoy. He counts. He counts and and he sees only three, but more are likely to arrive. Standing next to the Dark Lord is a tall man in robes closer in style to the Dark Lord's own than a Death Eater's, and he isn't wearing a full faced bone white mask, but a black Venetian half mask. Severus can not see much of him, but his lower face has caramel tan skin and a young look to it, and his hair is waist length and snow white. He catches the man's eye, pale green like mint ice cream, and the man winks and smirks at him. Soon, it is apparent that no one will be joining them, and Severus counts again. Nine, including himself, the dark lord, and the stranger.

**~*~ ~*~**

Harry smirks at the small group of select Death Eater's Voldemort decided to call. He scratches at his wrist absently, where the unseen number sits. 8,725,613,459.


End file.
